The Queen of stone

CHAPTER TWENTY — EIGHT

The Crag's Shadow Droaam Eyre 20, 998 YK

As Sheshka's words died in her throat, the room came to life. Thorn's intuition told her of movement in the darkness, of the creatures crawling on the shelves and tables, the huge rats gnawing on the four corpses spread across the floor. She could hear the scrape of claws against wood and stone, the click of tiny teeth, and the chittering voices of the vermin all around them. The stones scattered on the floor proved that the inhabitants of the tower had put up a fight; they'd taken many of the creatures with them. But in the end, the eyes of the medusas were no match for the numbers they had faced.

"Back!" Sheshka hissed. She held her bow in one hand and her sword in the other. "Don't let them bite you!"

It was too late for that. The rats were already upon them. Thorn killed the first one that leaped toward her with a single stroke of Steel, but ten more followed in its wake. The creatures were all over her, clawing and biting. Each scratch was trivial, but the pain was a distraction. As she scattered the little beasts, something heavy landed on her back, claws digging through the mystical field formed by her bracers. It was one of the larger rats, and its teeth were long and sharp. Thorn hissed in pain as the creature sank its fangs into her shoulder, but she didn't stop moving. She thrust Steel over her shoulder, simultaneously slamming her back against the nearest wall. The impact pried the rat loose, and she felt her dagger sink into its flesh. Twisting around, she flung the speared beast to the ground.

The rat should have been crippled, if not instantly dead. Instead, it landed on its feet and scampered back toward her. Cursing, Thorn called the myrnaxe forth from her glove. She had only one hand free, and she couldn't make a true thrust; instead, she let gravity take over. As the rat darted forward, she simply dropped the axe, guiding it as best she could. The spear point slammed through the beast's back. It screeched and lay still.

Wererats, she thought. Lovely…

"Sheshka!" she shouted. "We need to leave!"

The ordinary rats were all around her; the only mercy was that the sheer numbers of the smaller creatures were keeping the large wererats at bay. Sheathing Steel, Thorn set both hands against the axe and pulled it free from the corpse; the oversized rat was already shifting, transforming into a pale goblin. Next to her, she heard the crash of a stone rat striking the floor, the sound of Sheshka's sword spilling blood. But this wasn't a fight they could win.

"Now!" Thorn cried. She swung the axe with all her might, sending rats sprawling across the room. Then she turned and charged out the door, leaping off the ramp and into the air, falling toward the ground below. Thorn spun in midair, twisting to get her feet beneath her; it was a hard landing, but she was standing within a second, searching through the pockets of her cloak.

Sheshka was just behind her, and she leaped from the ramp with the grace of a trained acrobat. A half-dozen rats clung to the medusa's armor and scales, but her serpents were snapping at the vermin even while Sheshka was falling. Thorn saw a viper sink its fangs into a rat and tear the creature loose. The medusa rolled out from the impact, rising next to Thorn.

"Follow me," she said, breaking into a run.

It was one thing to outpace a normal rat, but the shape-shifters had speed to match their size. When Thorn glanced back, she could see the massive rats pouring out of the tower, loping across the ground with the speed of hounds. The fugitives had a head start, but it wouldn't last.

Thorn held a wooden vial in her left hand. She pulled at it with her teeth, prying off the lid to reveal a delicate glass tube inside. With one sharp motion, she dashed it to the ground, never breaking her stride. The instant the glass shattered, the magical effect began spreading out behind her. This one temporarily transformed earth and bare stone into thick, sloppy mud, and Thorn heard a surprised screech as the first rat stumbled into the muck.

It bought them time, nothing more. The rats would soon make their way through the bog. But every second was valuable, and Sheshka seemed to have a destination in mind. They had left the heart of the city behind, but a building stood up ahead, a ruin painted in the multicolored light of the moons. It was a stockade made from stone-a few defensive walls set together to form a barricade, presumably an outer watch post for the old city. The walls were crumbling and shattered in places, but Thorn could see the silhouettes of guardians standing on the walls, the shapes of halberds and arbalests set against the night. No one was challenging Sheshka's approach; it seemed that she had friends after all.

Thorn could hear the rats screeching behind them, claws tearing at the earth. The mud had slowed them down, but they were closing in once more. The women would reach the barricade before the rats, but then it would come down to battle. Thorn hoped Sheshka's allies were good at their work. They gave no indication of being interested in the situation; the archers weren't firing, and the halberdiers were standing steady.

A great gap yawned in one of the walls, and Sheshka leaped over the broken stone and into the compound. "Follow!" she hissed. Thorn saw that the structure wasn't a fortress at all; rather, the walls were raised around a wide staircase that descended into the earth. Soldiers stood around them-hobgoblins and bugbears in full armor-but none of them moved or spoke as Sheshka darted through the troops and down the stairs.

The passage stretched down for at least thirty feet, and Thorn struggled to keep from tripping on the steep, curving steps. They reached a wide tunnel. Once, a gate had sealed the passage, but it had been knocked from its hinges long ago; all that was left were fragments of rusted metal and splinters of ancient wood. Soldiers stood around, but as before, they showed no interest in the intruders.

Sheshka spun around, gazing up the stairs. Thorn caught a brief glimpse of her glowing golden eyes as she turned, but it wasn't enough to cause harm. Sheshka had sheathed her sword, and her bow was drawn back, one arrow to the string, two more clutched in her fingers. Thorn didn't know what was going on, but she took a position at Sheshka's side, ready to thrust with the tip of the silver spear.

"Wererats?" Thorn said. "Wererats?"

"I told you there were rats in the Crag," Sheshka said. "I doubt they'll have the courage to follow, but we should wait a few moments to make sure."

"The courage?" Thorn said. "What is this place?"

"This is the Ossuary," Sheshka replied, her eyes fixed on the stairs above. "And we're here to look for a bone."

The Ossuary was a goblin garrison, carved into the earth by the same masons that had hollowed out the tunnels of the Great Crag. It was built for creatures that could see in the shadows, and there was no source of light in the depths. Once again, Thorn was forced to rely on the vision granted by her ring, which cast the world in shades of gray. So it took her a moment to realize why the hobgoblins and bugbears around her still hadn't reacted to her presence.

They were all made of stone.

"What happened to them?" Thorn said. Presumably, they'd been petrified, but something about the situation felt wrong. The Valenar soldier in Sheshka's quarters, the rats in the white tower-they'd been caught in the midst of battle. By contrast, no signs of fear showed on the faces of the soldiers around Thorn-no sense that they'd seen this threat approaching. One of the hobgoblins had been petrified in the middle of speaking to his comrade; he held his pike at rest, not at the ready.

"They fell in the war that destroyed the goblin empire, thousands of years ago." Sheshka still watched the stairs, waiting for any signs of motion. "They faced one of the lords of madness, the daelkyr Orlassk, who some say was the creator of the cockatrice and the gorgon. It was Orlassk who destroyed Cazhaak Draal so long ago; then he came south to the Crag. He rose from Khyber, from tunnels that lie deep below this very fortress, and as he drew near, his sheer presence turned the guardians to stone. He petrified thousands across the city, and his troops killed ten times as many. And then, somehow, he was defeated and driven back into the depths."

"Petrified thousands across the city? I didn't see many statues…"

Sheshka turned away from the stairs, apparently satisfied that the rats had abandoned the chase. She began walking down the wide hallway, ignoring the frozen sentinels. "You would have, had you been here twenty years ago. It is why the Great Crag stood empty for so many millennia. The city and the lower levels of the Crag were filled with the effigies of the fallen. People said it was cursed-that the spirits of the fallen remained trapped in the stone, crying out for vengeance." She paused and brushed a finger across the cheek of a hobgoblin sergeant. "Surprisingly perceptive."

"You're saying it's true?"

"Of course it's true. You want me to restore your virtuous knight, don't you? Where do you suppose his soul has been all of these years? When you die, your soul flees your body and goes to Dolurrh, where it can rest and find peace. But our power traps the soul in stone. A few centuries may leave no mark, but these soldiers have been bound for thousands of years… and they fell in battle against one of the daelkyr, the destroyers of reason. There is no rest for their spirits. The only thing worse would be if the statues were broken."

Thorn's foot struck an object and it skidded across the floor… the frozen face of a bugbear, fallen from its statue. Sheshka smiled.

"The storytellers spoke truly when they said the spirits were trapped and tormented. Where they erred was their assumption that these unfortunates had any power. According to the tales, their ghosts would reach out from the stone to kill those who moved among them… or they would turn the offenders to stone, drawing them into their eternal nightmare."

"But that part's not true," Thorn said. The image of the faceless bugbear was lingering in her mind.

"People surely died, disappeared, turned up as statues in the ruins of the Crag. But this is Droaam. Savage trolls and wild cockatrices are a far more likely explanation. Still, the tale kept people from the Crag… until the Daughters of Sora Kell chose to make it the capital of their new nation."

"So what happened to all of the statues?"

"See for yourself."

They'd been making their way along curving tunnels, moving deeper and deeper below the surface. As Sheshka spoke, they stepped into a cavernous chamber-a hall that stretched far beyond the scope of Thorn's mystic sight. Pillars were spread throughout the hall like trunks of enormous trees. And there, in the darkness, were the petrified guardians of the Great Crag. Hobgoblins in armor, turned to stone in the midst of battle. Goblin peasants, their faces transfixed in fear. Mighty bugbears. Savage trolls. Beasts of war and burden-dire wolves, tribex, even a small wyvern with its wings broken off. Walking forward, Thorn could see no end to the chamber or to the legions of stone. Some of the statues had been positioned with great care, arranged in military formations. Others had been stacked in heaps that rose up to touch the ceiling. Many were missing limbs, or had been disfigured in other ways by the passage of time or malicious intent.

"Here are the thousands that fell at the hand of Orlassk," Sheshka said. "Along with some petrified in later days. The Daughters have called on the powers of my kin in the past, and in the early days of their rule, more than a few were turned to stone to serve as warning and example, and ultimately condemned to eternity in the Ossuary. And now the Stormblade has joined them."

"What makes you so sure? You said he could be anywhere."

"You came to this place in search of the Stormblade, yes? And you were given a message at the welcoming feast. What did it say?"

Thorn thought back. "Nothing lost remains lost forever, not even a bone in an ossuary."

"There is your answer. You have come in search of something long lost to you. He has been taken from the Crag. And he is here. You should not doubt the words of Sora Teraza."

"That's ridiculous," Thorn said. "If Teraza knew why I was here, why would she help me find Harryn?"

"Because she is Teraza," Sheshka replied. "Sora Maenya is hunger, the strength of the Three Sisters. Sora Katra is cunning, and she is their voice. But Sora Teraza… she is fate. She watches the wheels of time. She convinced me to come to the Crag, when Droaam was born. Katra's words serve the Daughters and Droaam, but Teraza serves a higher power, and she always speaks the truth."

"This is the same woman who tried to have you killed, yes?"

A ripple passed across Sheshka's mane of vipers-was this a medusa's shrug? "The Daughters of Sora Kell may be seeking my death, yes. And if Sora Teraza has seen it, it will come to pass. Her words to you will still be true. Harryn Stormblade is here… one more bone in the Ossuary."

"I assume the wererats were afraid of the stone ghosts," Thorn said. "Is that going to last?"

"I do not know," Sheshka said. "But I am troubled. From what I know of the rats, they are mostly goblins. Many served on the Graywall in the recent troubles. I know that they serve the Three Sisters. But they have never been bound to the Dark Pack. They struck my cousins in the same way that I was attacked, ensuring I would have no sanctuary. They may lack the courage to follow us, but I fear they are working for another. Whether it is Zaeurl or the Daughters themselves, this place will not be a sanctuary forever."

The task seemed hopeless. Thousands of statues filled the rooms, and the women didn't even know which hall held Harryn. Thorn was about to draw Steel, to see if the dagger had any ideas, when the answer occurred to her. She knew where Harryn was. She'd already seen him.

"You've been down here before, right?" Thorn said.

"Many times," Sheshka replied, studying the frozen faces around them. "But in those days, the Stormblade stood in the Great Hall of the Crag."

"I'm not looking for the Stormblade," Thorn said. "I'm looking for something else. What's the largest statue down here?"

Sheshka's snakes coiled and flexed as she considered this. "There are two giants-one to the north, and one to the south. Then there's a broken wyvern. Three griffins. But the largest would be the hydra. It must have been raised down here-I don't think it could fit through the tunnels."

Thorn nodded. "And is one of the griffins close to this hydra?"

A few of the vipers hissed. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Take me there."

As they walked, Sheshka's tales of spirits trapped in stone stuck in Thorn's mind, and she wasn't sure which disturbed her more-the soldiers who stood ready to strike, or the severed heads and broken faces scattered around the hall. Worse still was the utter lack of vermin. The hall was too clean, too quiet. What could keep even the insects away?

"There it is," Sheshka said.

The hydra was frozen in black marble. It was an awe-inspiring sight, with eight reptilian heads coiled back and ready to strike. Thorn couldn't help but think of Sheshka and the nest of vipers twisting around her head. But the hydra was a huge creature; each of its heads was nearly as large as Sheshka was tall. A griffin had been set across from it, rearing up on stone legs. Thorn had seen this tableau before… the picture on the last page of the golden book.

And there, standing in front of the griffin, was the figure of a man in armor, his arms at his sides. Thorn couldn't see his features, but she already knew it was the Knight of Storms.

Sheshka recognized him as well. "There!" she cried. She started to run forward, but Thorn tackled her after only a few steps, taking her down to the ground. A serpent snapped at Thorn's face, but this time she was ready. She batted the snake aside with her open hand.

Sheshka whirled to face her, and Thorn snapped her eyes shut; she could feel the queen's anger. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Possibly saving your life. Again," Thorn replied. She'd seen it just in time. A faint ripple in the air-the telltale sign of a magical ward, and a powerful one at that. "Whoever carried the statue down here didn't leave him unprotected."

Thorn slowly stood up, drawing Steel from his sheath. "What can you tell me?"

"I know nothing of such things," Sheshka replied. "I have never encountered a ward down here before."

Thorn ignored her; it was Steel's analysis that she wanted.

This is no simple alarm, he said. This is strong offensive magic. Poetic. It's set to petrify anyone who crosses the boundary. Seek a statue, become one yourself.

Thorn sighed. She hated being right. A pinch of silver dust gave a momentary glimpse of the shape of the ward… a mass of wavering glyphs floating in the air like snowflakes, whirling around the Stormblade statue. It was one of the largest she'd seen; whomever had woven this trap had tremendous mystic skill. Sora Katra? Sora Teraza? Did they send Thorn expecting that she'd join the stone army?

Thorn considered her tools-the picks, powders, and oils that she used to disrupt magical energies. She let a few drops of nightwater fly across the boundary. They evaporated instantly.

It was too powerful, too well woven. She considered the pattern again; it was flawless. It had no gaps to exploit. She couldn't break it.

But she had another option.

Tucking her tools into her cloak, Thorn stood up. "Sheshka?"

The medusa seemed to know what she was thinking. "This is not an ending."

Thorn stepped forward, across the line of the ward. For an instant she saw the glyphs shimmering around her. Then she felt the touch of magic, chill tendrils spreading through her bones.

And then she felt nothing at all.